womanhood

a work in progress

Category: People & Land (Page 1 of 17)

Basics.

We really, really, really. 

Need to LEARN. 

This. 

This simple thing. 

Your power is NOT in the money you earn. 

NOT in the status you keep. 

NOT in the business you run. 

Your power is NOT in the children you raise. 

NOT in the people you hire. 

NOT in the beauty you have. 

Your power is NOT in your home. 

NOT in the PRADA bag you own. 

NOT in the Instagram followers you have. 

Your power is in you. 

Seated within you. 

In the way you trust in yourself. 

In the way you believe in yourself. 

In the truth of yourself. 

In the beauty of who you are. 

That is where it lies. 

And when it comes from that truth, 

You will do no harm. 

X

KI

Care

Who taught you not to care?
Who taught you not to get riled up?
Who taught you that you couldn’t make a difference?

My child.
My friend.
My lover.

YOU ARE THE DIFFERENCE.

In your tongue.
In your soul.
In your mind.
Your heart.

Lies the difference.

So feel it.
Get crushed.
Get hurt by it.

The racism. The oppression. The sexism. The casteism. The world.

Get fucked off.
And speak your heart.
Speak your words.

Because my darling sweetest.
It takes us.
Everyday people.

Bringing our courage and our hurt to the front.
To make change.

With a conversation.
With a protest.
With an instagram post.

With every little thing.
With every big thing.

We are making a difference.

Burn

Oh.
Us Indians.
Our forefathers taught us well.

We got taught, how NOT TO GET INTO TROUBLE.
How to lie low.
How to play it safe.
How to avoid the fire.

Play the white game.
Wear the white clothes.
Change your name to Tom. Or John.
So it eases the barriers down.

And we did it.
Before us, our parents did it.
Our forefathers.

We rubbed off the bindis.
Traded the saris for blouses.
Our houses smell like curry, so we change before we head out.
Exhaust fans always on.

Assimilating.
Apologising.

I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you apologise for the smell of your tuna.
I didn’t hear you apologise for your thick accent, the one I can barely decipher.
I didn’t hear you apologise for the skin you bare, so offensive to the culture I come from.

That’s right.
You don’t need to apologise.
It is who you are.

So why the fuck.
Are we apologising for who we are?

I blame us.
Us.

Me.
Me.
Me.

So now, when I order an latte, I don’t say “Kish” to make it easier for you to spell my name.
I say Karishma. So you learn it for the next Karishma.

I don’t tell my son to take off his rakhi, or hesitate to speak in Indian to him in front of you.
It’s not rude. It’s our language.

I cook up a curry storm and I invite you home for it.

We are us.
And the differences make us beautiful.
And who we are.

Erasing them, erases us.
And we are hollow inside.
Lost, confused and messed up.
Trying to be like you, but when we see ourselves in the mirror, we know can never be.

X
K

Manic

Why are we living in the manic?
Why so busy?
Why so committed?
Why so overloaded?

Why no time to breathe.
No time to walk.
No time to laugh.

Where are we running to?

You know it’s pointless right?

Because you might show up.
But energy doesn’t lie.

So let go of the angst.
And pace it.

We’ve got a long way to go.

X
K

Intent

The intentions.
What we started with.
Flow through.

And when we stop being true to who we are, what we really wanted, how we wanted things to go down, it shows.

In the work.
In the gravity of what we do.
In the lives we live.

It shows.

Show up.
For yourself.

Because the outcome,
Will always be better than all the bullshit compromise, the comparing, the adjusting, the navigating, all the crap, you’ve bowed down to.

Show me.
You.

Schooled

I’d just like to take a moment.
To thank my husband Vivek.
For preventing me from becoming a man-hater.
For listening to my distaste in men, distrust in men, disgust even, in men.

And then pausing, to give me the potential other side of the story.
For reminding me that I married someone very similar to these men I so despise.

It’s simply that.
We’ve travelled a journey which has changed him and I.

And men are often whom they are,
Because they weren’t educated otherwise.

So.
MY WOMEN IN THE HOUSE.
PLEASE TAKE ON THIS ROLE.

Teach a man.
He doesn’t own you.
He doesn’t own your money.
He doesn’t own the surnames of your children.
He doesn’t own the style of your skirt.
He doesn’t own the sway of your hips.
He doesn’t own the food you have when you go out to dinner.
He doesn’t own your career.
He doesn’t own the relationships you have with your friends and family.
He doesn’t own the jewels you buy, or those that he gifts you.
He doesn’t own the right to tell you when to be home.
He doesn’t own a single inch of you.
Not an inch.

 

And it’s your role, to lock this shit into place.

To cause an uproar.

To fight the fight, be it little or large.

Stand up for what means something to you.

Live a life on your terms and not his.
Because if you keep playing the victim,
Don’t you dare go blaming a wasted life on him.

X
K

Highlights All Day

Are we expecting everything to be an instagram moment?

No seriously, because for like a year in my life – I was.
And I couldn’t figure out why none of the boxes I’d ticked were making me.

Happy enough.

X

K

It just is.

You can never tick all the boxes.

Raised

I wonder.
How to find more women who raise you.

And how to walk away from those who don’t.
X
K

An Ode to the Sari 

When I was little, I wanted to work at the United Nations and wear a sari everyday.

My mother introduced me to jute, hand woven fabrics and vintage silk.

My mother-in-law introduced me to chiffon, hand dying and colours that pushed me beyond cream and maroons. 

My grandmothers introduced me to soft, soft, soft cotton. Pastels and the way creases fold upon fold. 
I never liked my tummy, especially once I had started to notice it. 

Most women don’t see it. But a sari hides a tummy, simply depending on how you wear it. 

It suits some, it doesn’t suit others. 

It probably pairs itself best with women who adore it. 
A woman in a sari. 

Seems to do things to an Indian man. Or one who feels likewise. 

Stirs things. 

Commands something new. 

Makes the brows raise and the words slip from the tongue, “Ah”. 
When I started this collection, it was obvious to me that there would be saris involved. 

And there are. 

It’s just that my mum has first dibs, so you might need to wait for the next season. 
X

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